


A Dance With Death on a Night Least Expecting It

by orphan_account



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Character Death, Death, Give it a read, Like, M/M, death and heavy descriptions, idk - Freeform, it's pretty short, let me know if it's underrated. like if it should be mature, maybe i shouldn't write dark stuff, references to suicidal thoughts, romanticizing death?, should it be mature??? there's nothing bad except, this is actually kinda depressing, yeah it's kinda dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-02 00:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8644240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: December. 2004.A dark night splattered with blood. Blood of a man unsure if he truly wants to die anymore. It comes to mind too late, it's not like this was his fault. It was too late, anyway.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry???? it was going to be cute and like nice n stuff but then it had a mind of its own. 
> 
> this pretty much wrote itself. ignore the time frame, i thought it was good to add, but it probably causes problems for IRL lol. 
> 
> if there are any errors, please tell me.

**December 2004**

**  
New York City**

**  
19:50:57**

  
  
New York City, in the winter, was an understandably cold place. Pete, though, never realized how cold it could actually get. Nor how quiet, in a city of millions, it could be. The intermittent patter of bitterly red blood was all he could hear over his heavy, ragged breathing. He couldn’t hear the ambulances or the people quickly surrounding the area or the EMT’s or even his own heartbeat. Nothing was real, but, at the same time, everything was. Everything was too real and too there and he just wanted it to stop. He just wanted it to stop, forever.

  
He took awareness of his body. The feeling of slowly congealing blood on his throat and face seemed to sear his skin as if he was being sprayed with a constant onslaught of liquid dry ice. His ankle throbbed painfully in time with his heartbeat, sending more blood to the places where it continued to spray out of.  
  
It felt as though he was a tire with a hole in it, but instead of air rushing out, it was his blood. The stuff that has kept him (unwantedly) alive for not even 26 years was quickly draining out of the holes in his leg, in his chest, in his brain. He wasn’t even going to fall prey to the curse of 27. He wasn’t important enough for it.

  
He watched feebly, body shaking uncontrollably and through fuzzy vision as those around him tried, in vain, to save him. He knew that his time walking on this Earth was swiftly coming to an explosive end. That was okay. He was ready, he accepted it with unmoving arms.

  
Above him, he weakly heard the cries of passerby’s, and the screams of EMT’s as they relayed orders to their coworkers. “Stabilize him!” he heard from behind him. The voice was ragged, yet calm, which described Pete’s feelings currently.

  
Pete could smell the disgusting scent of burnt flesh and knew it was radiating from the taxi behind him. He tried to crinkle his nose but hissed lowly in pain as he came to realize that his nose had been blown off by the impact. He had no clue how that had happened; he was in the back of the car, and they collided head on. At least, that’s what he could remember. It was all a bit fuzzy now, the memories draining out of him like blood. Each pump of his heart sent memories farther away from him, as he felt his vision begin to grey.

  
“We’re losing him!” another EMT shouted, nearly startling Pete out of dying. His deft hands tried to close the many wounds decorating his damaged body. “Help me! We’ve got to save this kid!”

  
_I’m not a kid, thank you very much,_ Pete thought sarcastically. Even in the process of dying, he wouldn’t give up on sarcasm. _Just leave me alone, let me slip into an eternal sleep._ The twinkling of the stars way off above him seemed to blind him as he blinked slowly. He took another painful breath, chest rattling.  
  
  
He didn’t think that he would die here, lying in an, unfortunately, busy street some forgotten night in December 2004. Whenever he imagined his death, it involved a sickeningly romantic night with his anxiety pills, smiling as he finally got what he wanted. He never thought that he’d feel an underlying sense of panic towards his obviously near-death. He was going to die. Fact.

  
His face twitched again and another painful breath was forced out of his tired lungs. He tried to calm down, if any time that should be now, but all he felt was a need to jump up and sprint down the road. Breathing was getting harder, so obviously that wouldn’t work. He needed someone. More blood leaked out of his multiple wounds as he tensed suddenly.

  
He needed Patrick.

  
How could he have forgotten him? Patrick, oh, the love of his life. The one that he was planning on asking out just that very night. Patrick, innocent, lovely, gorgeous Patrick; Patrick who was going to find his mangled body in a hospital bed and never be the same again. Patrick, who’s never going to see the world like Pete had promised the moment he had heard his golden voice. _He broke his promise and he’s never going to be able to apologize._

  
Pete felt tears travel down his face, stinging like gasoline. They cooled almost immediately to his sticky face, simulating the chill of the air. They symbolized his life force drying up. These were his final moments.

  
He forced out what he knew was his last breath, whispered quietly to the stilling city, “Patrick.”

  
Everything fell silent as the world turned an inky black.

  
Pete Wentz was dead.

  
**19:54:53**  
  


 


End file.
